


And He Keeps on Fighting

by chibistarlyte



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: sherlockbbc_fic, Kink Meme, M/M, tvtropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibistarlyte/pseuds/chibistarlyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is a soldier, and it is in his nature to keep on fighting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And He Keeps on Fighting

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick little fill for a prompt on the kink meme. The prompt was to use the randomizer on TvTropes and write a fic based on the random trope that popped up. My trope was Humans Are Warriors. I took some liberties with the trope, but it fits the general idea, I guess? I may add to/expand this at a later time, but for now, I suppose I can call it finished.
> 
> All errors/typos/etc. are entirely my own.
> 
> I don't even know what else to say about this. Hope you enjoy it!

John Watson is many things. But he is first and foremost a soldier.  
  
And not just in the typical sense, either. Of course he's earned the title for his years in the service, and he's got the uniform and the medals to prove it. He knows better than most how to handle a gun, how to defend himself, and how to take someone out with a few pulls and punches. He knows how to take command, as well, but this side of him is usually unseen but for those who deserve to see it.  
  
But John's spent his whole life fighting and that's all he's ever known.  
  
He fought to keep his family together, even when his dad flew into a drunken rage and his mum stood by and watched and Harry was crying in the corner and begging dad to _stop, just stop_.   
  
He fought against the stupid kids in primary school who picked on him for being little, showed them a thing or two about exactly who they were messing with.   
  
He fought against the homophobic population on his sister's behalf, because even though he was younger and smaller, he would _always_ protect his sister.  
  
He fought against every single person who told him that he wouldn't amount to anything, that he would never survive medical school, that he would crack under the pressure.   
  
He fought with the plaster of his tiny flat when he first nailed his doctorate to the wall, framed for all to see.  
  
He fought against the idiots in basic training who ganged up on him for being a shrimp, and just like the schoolyard bullies, he handed their arses to them on silver platters.  
  
He fought against Afghanistan in its entirety--the acrid climate, the extremists who tried to harm both citizens and foreigners alike, the guilt that he felt when he realized how much he loved the danger and by God, how did he live without it for so long?  
  
He fought against time to save as many people as he could.  
  
He fought back tears for the people he couldn't.  
  
He even fought Death himself one day, the day the bullet pierced through and shattered his shoulder, the day the numbing cold of death mixed with the dry heat of the desert, and he hung on by the skin of his teeth to keep on living.  
  
He fought against the urge to just disappear, though he'd come dangerously close more often than he'd care to admit.  
  
John had even tried fighting Sherlock on occasion. Being a seasoned soldier, he knew not only how to fight but also how to choose his battles. Sherlock was an immovable force, and John learned very quickly not to fight against that which could not be conquered. Instead, he adapted.  
  
He fought the onslaught of slander that came with Sherlock's increasing fame, dismissing the crude remarks and terrible nicknames and false assumptions.  
  
He fought against the world, the world that kept trying to tell him that Sherlock was a liar and a fraud.  
  
He fought against that small seed of doubt, that nagging voice telling him that he should have never trusted the man.  
  
He fought down the senseless hope that Sherlock was still out there, somewhere, that he'd cheated death and was walking and breathing and _living_.  
  
He fought back the urge to punch Sherlock in his goddamn face for putting him through _three fucking years_ of grief and agony.  
  
But after fighting his whole life, John grew tired of it. So very, very tired. And thus he didn't even bother to fight the impulse to kiss Sherlock, to comb his fingers through those wild curls and trail his thumb over the pulse point in his neck and pull him close and never let go.  
  
And even with this new yet all-too-familiar change in their relationship, John would never stop fighting with Sherlock about storing intestines in the bathtub or how the flat should be at least somewhat tidy or whose turn it was to buy the milk. He would never stop fighting against the naysayers, all the people who told him that loving Sherlock was a mistake and he should get out while he can.  
  
John Watson is a soldier, and it is in his nature to keep on fighting.


End file.
